


The Long Way Around

by forcesofbalance



Category: Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon (2006)
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, possible one-shot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 11:43:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16304564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forcesofbalance/pseuds/forcesofbalance
Summary: Two years following the traumatic murders that continue to haunt the city of Glen Echo, Taylor Gentry has decided the questions she has concerning the enigma of Leslie Vernon deserve answers. With Doc Halloran in the wind, she only has one place left to turn to find what she's looking for.





	The Long Way Around

Taylor took the long way.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t remember the route Leslie had led them down those two fateful years prior. It had been a scenic stroll through the autumn forest that surrounded the apple orchard he’d claimed to be his former residence, not too far from the usually-empty main road. The occasional passing of a car through the rural Maryland neighborhood had been a brief speck of color and movement between the changing leaves, but the glimpse had provided a feeling of much-needed normalcy. Leslie Vernon was not a creature of his own dimension — there were people who would be entirely unaffected by his existence who could pass by right under his nose without any threat of danger at all. That trail would have been easy for her to find, painfully simple to retrace the steps the ghost of her former self had taken to reach Eugene and Jamie’s home, but she couldn’t step foot near that farmhouse. Not yet.

The alternate route added an extra hour to her trip, not counting the ten minutes she had taken to pull over in the misty early-morning light to allow a flock of turkeys to meander across the pavement, the birds clearly accustomed to being the only ones frequenting the road. When the red-oak panels of 28545 Starling Court were, at last, standing a few yards beyond her windows, Taylor took a moment to compose herself in the safety of her vehicle, listening to the sound of the drumming rain and the faint squeal of her heating unit. The dated yellow car sat in the same place it had the last time she’d seen it, the black toolbox still perched on the rear dashboard.   _No more stalling. Get up, go. Rip the band-aid off._

Breathing deeply, she leaned into the passenger seat to sling her messenger bag over her shoulder and pulled the collar of her turtleneck up to her chin as a flimsy barrier against the downpour outside, exiting the car without allowing herself time to hesitate. Passing the car and avoiding the damp lawn, she made a beeline for the door, unable to avoid getting decently drenched in the span it took her to reach the porch from the space she’d parked along the street. A quick jab at the white doorbell was all it took for the entrance to swing open, revealing the shocked expression on Jamie’s kind face.

“Taylor!” she exclaimed, her surprised voice filling the small entryway in a way that seemed too-loud in Taylor’s ears. “Now this certainly is a surprise. It’s been quite a while since we’ve seen you around here.”

Taylor’s gaze fell to her worn shoes for a heartbeat, swallowing down the anxiety that rose at the mention of her last visit. _You’re going to have to get used to that. You’re here. Plenty more memories to face._ Blinking her turmoil away, she met Jamie’s warm brown eyes once more, schooling her face into as genuine a smile as she could manage. “I-I’m sorry to be intruding, Jamie,” she apologized. “I promise I’m not bringing any trouble — I just need some answers. About what happened.”

Understanding softened Jamie’s features, the older woman reaching out to place a sympathetic hand on Taylor’s shoulder with the coaxing patience of someone who had happened upon a lost animal. “Of course, hon.” She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, her grip firming up a slight degree as she registered the damp condition of her clothing. “Come inside, come inside. You’re soaking wet out there; you’ll catch your death!”

Taylor allowed herself to be ushered inside, feeling disoriented and dizzy. Nothing at all had changed, from the dark yellow carpet peeking through the banister overhead to the cool sensation of the iron handrail that belonged to the spiraling staircase. Her stare swept around the rooms they passed, struggling to process that she was truly there after two years of delaying the inevitable. The dolls standing proudly atop the cabinets seemed to watch her pass by with distrust in their unblinking eyes — the heavy feeling that she was being watched creeping steadily down her spine.

“'Gene!” Jaime called, trying to draw her husband from some far corner of the residence as she guided her guest to sit on one of the stools in the kitchen. “Bring me one of those old shirts from the laundry, would you?” She immediately set to work heating up a kettle of water, humming a tune that sounded somewhat like Bach’s _Goldberg Variations_ , graciously allowing Taylor the time to adjust in silence without prompting her with any questions.

Soon enough, the kettle whistled and the sound of heavy footsteps approached them, Eugene soon appearing in the doorway with a long-sleeved flannel shirt in one hand and an empty glass in the other. He hovered there for a moment, taking in the sight of the shivering blonde sitting at his counter with an unreadable expression on his face before giving her a gruff nod. “It’s nice to see you back.”

Jamie took the shirt from his hands, analyzing it for a brief moment and giving him a lingering glance before her smile returned fully, leading Taylor to wonder if she had just been imagining things. The younger woman accepted the offered shirt, excusing herself to the bathroom to exchange it for her turtleneck, relieved both for the change of clothing (though she would have been just as well without it) and for a break from the tense atmosphere of the house.

_“Are you sure this is a good idea?”_ Eugene’s voice drifted through the closed door, faint yet distinct enough to make out. Taylor couldn’t make sense of Jamie’s reply, but it seemed to satisfy him enough to end the conversation. She didn’t blame him for his hesitation, considering what she knew about his former profession and their place in the life of Leslie Vernon. He had every right to be suspicious of her intentions, considering what...had happened.

Giving herself a fierce look in the mirror above the sink, she mentally locked away any further thoughts of self-doubt, forcing herself to adopt the journalist mentality she’d been taught in college. Being meek and easily affected by emotion didn’t get results, only confidence and persistence did. She leaned back from the sink, pulling off her soaked top and sliding her arms into the sleeves of the flannel, sighing quietly with relief to be warm once more. It was definitely a few sizes too big, the sleeves so long that the tips of her fingers poked out in a ridiculous manner, forcing her to roll up the cuffs to retain some semblance of dignity. Finding the buttons with freezing fingers, she made quick work of dressing herself and hesitated with her turtleneck in one hand, uncertain what to do with it, before deciding to leave it on the edge of the tub to dry.

As she entered the hallway, Taylor found herself examining the pattern of the shirt, her eyes following the red-and-white plaid with a slight furrow in her brow. There was something in her mind that had been silent for some time, now stirring vaguely with memories she couldn’t fully recall. Maybe Eugene had worn this shirt one of the nights-

_No,_ she thought sternly to herself, wrenching her arm to her side and standing up straighter. _No, don’t be ridiculous. You just saw it hanging in the discount section of Kohl’s two weeks ago. That’s all it is. Not everything has to be some big mystery._ That image managed to bring a small smile to her face: Eugene the Retired Killer, browsing the deals at Kohl’s alongside the typical middle-class PTA mothers. _See, you’ve still got a sense of humor after all, Gentry._

Jamie’s face lit up as Taylor seated herself back upon the stool at the counter, the steaming mug in her hand clinking against a spoon as she placed it down in front of her guest. “Drink up! It’s just Earl Grey and honey. Would you care for lemon as well? Any extra sweetener?”

Taylor shook her head with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her tired eyes. “No, thanks. This is perfect.”

Eugene watched her wordlessly as she took a testing sip of the beverage, his fingers drumming against the empty glass he had originally brought into the room. He seemed to be analyzing something, the gears in his calculating mind whirring away, though once their eyes met he turned away to pour out a shot of amber liquid from a bottle beside the fridge.

“How have you been doing, Taylor? I know the first few years can be rough.”

Jamie’s words reminded Taylor in an instant that she had very likely been Eugene’s first _survivor girl_   — that she had once been in the same exact position _she_ was in now. Although how she had ended up _married_ to the man who had stalked and attempted to kill her was absolutely beyond _her_. As she took another sip of tea to mull over her answer, her attention drifted between the odd pair. They seemed just as happy and contentedly in-love as they had been the last time she had visited, each offering warm gestures of affection to the other in moments that appeared entirely natural and easy. _How on earth did they go from that to this?_

“I’ve been...managing,” she finally replied, keeping it vague, yet honest. Though there were countless therapy sessions and new bottles of medicine in her bathroom cabinet to attest to just _what_ she was managing, she had certainly made great strides in overcoming the consequences of her actions, and of Leslie’s. “Some days are harder than others.”

Jamie nodded wisely, swirling a spoon in her own mug as she added in a packet of Sweet N’ Low. “You’re very strong, Taylor. Never doubt that about yourself. Anyone who’s paying enough attention can see it plain as day.”

“Always had you pegged to be a fighter,” Eugene rumbled, leaning back against the opposite counter. “The boy, too. You’ve got fire. It’s why you’re here, after all.”

Taylor opened and closed her mouth soundlessly, her brain void of comprehensible thought at the mention of Leslie and what appeared to be a reference to their final showdown. Jamie shot him a sharp look, though he didn’t seem to notice her disapproval, a sly smile blooming across his face as he downed some of his alcohol.

“You mentioned you had questions, Taylor.” Jamie swooped gracefully back into the conversation, clearly trying to take control of the direction away from her blunt husband. “We’re more than willing to answer, sweetheart. Take all the time you need.”

“Y-you’re sure?” Taylor found herself asking the question before she could properly think it through. “I understand if it’s too difficult to...to talk about him. I know how close he was to you-” She cut herself off, one hand covering her mouth as she stood abruptly, a nauseous pallor draining the blood from her face. “Oh, this was a mistake. I wasn’t-”

“‘Difficult to talk about him’?” Eugene echoed, exchanging an identically puzzled look with his wife. “Wait, you don’t mean...you think he’s…?” He placed his glass down on the counter, the noise it made loud enough to make Taylor flinch. “The newspapers didn’t say anything? No reports? That can’t be right…”

It was as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice-cold water over her head. A freezing sensation trickled down her spine, her hand still stiffly clasped across her mouth, her posture instantly tense as realization cut through the fog in her mind. Before she could breathe that epiphany of truth aloud, a voice from the doorway to her left made her heart stop in her chest.

“Hey, Tay.”

Silence, held aloft by a razor-thin wire. The breath caught in Taylor’s throat, her body forgetting how to function in the wake of the shock that flooded her system. She couldn’t process anything, not the disapproval on Eugene’s face and the concealed delight in Jamie’s, nor the sound of the clock hanging on the wall beside her. She registered the faint trembling seizing her muscles, overwhelmed with conflicting emotions of relief and disbelief and anger and fear all at once. She needed to sit down, she needed to run, she needed to get in her car and never look back.

Leslie stepped into the room, all his attention fixed upon her. He looked exactly the same, with no trace of burns or scars on his face, though noticeably dark circles beneath his too-bright eyes. There was no malice there, no trace of the monster who had pinned her to the floor of the cider-press shed with his hands wrapped around her throat. His edges were unbearably soft, his movements slow and cautious, as if she were a doe who might startle and flee at anything too sudden. There was no anger, no triumphant mockery in his gaze as he looked her up and down, taking her in with the intensity of someone who had never expected to see her again.

“Taylor,” he murmured, his voice gentle and quiet. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a small piece I wrote for a fellow fan of the movie, but I may be inspired to turn it into a proper story. If you enjoyed the read, leave a comment and share your thoughts! This movie truly deserves a lot more love than it gets.


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